


Okay

by marvelousshipper



Series: Ask-spiderpool fics [5]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, ask-spiderpool - Fandom
Genre: I AM NOT OKAY WHAT WHY, SCI, ask-spiderpool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelousshipper/pseuds/marvelousshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aunt May is so good and Pete is so agnsty but don't worry I am also v angsty</p>
            </blockquote>





	Okay

**Author's Note:**

> what the heck I don't deserve these feelings what is up with these updates MY BOYS WERE SO CLOSE TO HAPPINESS but no the internet happened and I have definitely neglected my own sleep to write down these >2,000 words of feelings

Well.

That hadn't been what he expected. He hadn't really expected any of the last two years, but an empty apartment and a significant amount of heartbreak was just _really_ not according to plan.

He probably should have called the heartbreak. God, hadn't he played the fool?  Falling for  someone who you weren't even sure you could fully trust,  _who does that?_ Him, apparently. So much for his genius status.

He wasn't an emotional mess anymore. Wade saw his completely destroyed state, and he allowed himself to follow through on that breakdown for about 5 minutes after the man walked away, but it got quickly replaced by this...hollowness? It wasn't exactly a new sensation for him, it followed a lot of the shitty events  in his life. A shut down response. Punch, block, search for a criminal, ignore the rain, don't treat your wounds, push out the red in your vision and the pressure in your head and ache in your chest.

It wasn't a good response. He knew the kind of person he became when he let that kind of blankness take over. Spider-man either became the only thing he did or entirely neglected, his grades slipped, and if it lasted, an eviction notice was almost a guarantee. His last slip into this mentality had been,  well, Gwen, and that had lasted  _months._ He was determined to make sure that didn't happen this time round. Shit, he needed to call someone.

In a minute. Or two. Or three. Well, he definitely had to stop one more mugger before he could go home (Home. Sure.), and while rain dissuaded crime it didn't exactly stop it, so he was allowing himself at least another hour before making a call. So, definitely going to call, in an hour or two.

…

He didn't call anyone that night. The apartment was silent at 3 am, which was jarring, for a moment. Usually the TV was on or there was snoring or Wade just shared his insomniac tendencies and was rummaging about. The shock of it was only momentary before the static swallowed his mind again, causing him to pull off his mask, shrug at his abused knuckles, and fall into bed with his costume still on.

At 6:30, his alarm went off. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and he had a job to get ready for. With a swipe of his phone, he dismissed the alarm, turned over, and went back to sleep. At one, he dragged himself out of bed in order to get food, which was a very exciting handful of cereal eaten directly from the box.

He _really_ needed to call someone. Laundry had piled up though, so he should get on that first. While he was at it, might as well do the vast amount (four) dishes in the sink. And there was the stuff that Wade hadn't taken with him strewn about, so he should probably get to organizing all of it into a box to either throw away or donate or leave in the back of his closet somewhere until he stopped thinking about it. Plus, when was the last time either of them had vacuumed? 

At seven o'clock, he had 19 texts, 5 voice-mails, and an absolutely spotless apartment (well, as spotless as it could get). He should probably go on patrol in about an hour or so, and until then there was mindless browsing on the internet.

He  _should_ call someone. It was actually quite imperative to his physical and mental health that he call someone. He stayed out until 4 am instead. The next day was a little better. He didn't even bother to set the alarm, and he wasn't going to do anything stupid like actually listen to the voice-mails that were almost guaranteed to be J.J.J screaming at him, but he did manage to wake himself up  at noon and warm up leftover take out. The apartment was stiflingly neat, what the hell had he been thinking yesterday?  


'What the hell had he been thinking' was a common question on his mind in the past few days. A few more on the highlight reel: why the  _fuck_ ? What the fuck? Jesus fucking christ  _why haven't you just called someone you mess of a human being?_

Goddammit, he was going to do something about it today. He had a support system, it was time to actually use it. (An unwelcome pang of guilt cut through the fog, because Wade didn't have much of a support system, _he_ was supposed to be that support system. Then he bitterly remembered that, oh yeah, _Wade Wilson didn't need him_ , and, what a miracle, the guilt was gone.) Feeling a spike of motivation, he figured he should first sit down and figure out _who_ exactly to call. His viable options were probably Johnny, MJ, or Aunt May. Three choices wasn't too bad to have to choose from, especially because he automatically crossed Johnny off of his mental list _because Flame-brain knew too much._ In about two weeks (two months? Who knew?) Johnny's particular brand of comfort of shitty jokes and somehow managing to get them into a dangerous situation over the course of like a ten minute conversation would probably be perfect. Right now a joke about how the Bugle was going to cover the big divorce as a sequel to the honeymoon would probably do more harm than good, so Storm was off the list.

So MJ or Aunt May. MJ was an appealing option. She was the best at distraction comfort, the sort of friend who would grab a coffee with you and acknowledge your feelings but also, _there's this amazing concert playing in like 20 minutes and we should absolutely go, don't you think?_ and the unspoken agreement to take your mind off things. It was perfect if Jameson was making his life hell or he had been stuck on a potential experiment for the last 48 hours but right now he _had_ the distraction. Aunt May it was.

He'd probably fall apart again if he talked to her. She'd probably make him tea and/or baked goods and tell him to get his shit together in a very maternal way. That seemed to balance out pretty well, so he, like a true innovator, took the initiative and put in the effort to pull up her contact and dial. She picked up after two rings, and he got out all of “Hey Aunt May,” before she responded, “Oh Peter, I'll be right over.”

He was tempted to reply “No, I'm okay, you don't need to do that,” before he realized that a: the whole point of calling her was to see her and b: he _wasn't_ okay, which was kind of the whole other point of calling her. Plus, she had already hung up before he could really protest. He should call her more when he wasn't, y'know, having an emotional crisis.

She arrived in less than 10 minutes with containers in hand, which considering that she lived at least 30 minutes away, was pretty impressive. Aunt May could be a storm when she wanted, terrifyingly efficient in pulling out a plate of gingersnaps, heating water for the tea, and rearranging his furniture so that it would be more suitable to a one on one conversation with snacks. His position of laying on the couch wasn't exactly optimal for conversation, but he did manage to work up the energy to loll his head over so he could actually look at her while they were talking. He gave his best attempt at an appreciative smile when he said, “Thanks for stopping by.”

Apparently, his smile had failed, because she gave him a worried look and replied, “Jesus, you're already breakin' my heart, Peter.”

He gave her a shrug, giving her a sorry before asking, “How did you know to come over anyway, I only got out three words?”

She tilted her head at him and granted him a non-pitying smile when she told him, “It's because you're a horrible nephew and only bother to call me when you're upset.”

His eyebrows scrunched up before returning a slightly less pathetic grin at her, stating, “Nuh-uh. I _definitely_ called because I needed money like just last week.”

She rolled her eyes at him, giving a little “shoo” motion with her hand. “Boy, you and I both know that you're the one working two jobs and I'm the one living of off social security checks, you haven't asked me for money in _at least_ two years. Now sit up and talk to me like the proper adult I raised you to be.”

Feeling lighter than he had in the past 48 (? 56? Time is an illusion.) hours, he sat up and gave a mock salute, give a stern, “Yes, ma'am.”

She gave a curt nod, muttering, “Damn straight,” before saying, “Now that you're upright, you can actually drink your tea and tell me _why_ your voice sounded so flat over the phone.”

So that's how she knew to come over. Apparently she knew things were bad when he couldn't even manage false pep over the phone. He gratefully took the tea, but he suddenly found it hard to make eye contact and the buzzing thoughts were starting to swirl up again. “I..uh...hmm.”

Brilliant. He needed to talk to someone and now that someone was there, he couldn't find his voice. _He_ couldn't find his voice. Then again, he hadn't been using it much of late. Scared the crap out of the petty criminals he had faced down. Spider-man and Deadpool both had a reputation of being talkers, so when either of them were silent in a fight, they must mean business, right? Not that they were a they, but whatever. God, they were similar in a lot of ways. Peter used to hate that, then really appreciated it, and now he was back to hating it.

Anyway, current moment. Right. Aunt May quirked up her eyebrows, gave a quick scan of the apartment , and asked, “Would it have anything to with the lack of Wade's things around here?”

“Yeah, he, um, he moved out a couple days ago. I mean, I still have some of is crap that he left lying around in a box, but, uh, yeah...”

When he glanced up at her from staring at his tea, she gave a slight shake of her head and somehow managed to look even more concerned. “Why?”

Peter gave a huff, a shrug, and rubbed at the back of his neck, saying, “Well, I mean, with the second job, I didn't really _need_ the rent money, and Wade had...stuff...to do...in another country?”

Why was he lying about this? Why was he lying _so badly_ about this? Because lying was one of his default reactions to things happening (Whhaaaaattt? That costume is for Halloween. Clearly. Yes, I know it's July but it's never to early to prepare. Wait, if we don't have a chimney, then who's was I cleaning that lead to me getting this dirty in the proccess? Huh? Think about it. ) and he was a shit liar (see parenthetical examples). Aunt May looked less than impressed at him, and he sighed as the truth spilled out of him. “We got into a fight.”

“Over what?”

He let out a laugh that was borderline hysterical (It wasn't borderline. It had definitely crossed the 'hysterical' line and just kept on going.), before giving a wide grin and throwing up his hands, “Well, wouldn't you know it, I asked him why were weren't dating because I made the brilliant move of falling in love with the asshole, to which he responded by calling my hair stupid and running out, which, okay, it's Wade, a freak out was not completely unexpected, and then I ranted to Tony and over-thought things , and then I fucked up, which is just a Classic Peter Parker move, over-thinking things and fucking up, and then I found out Wade had also fucked up, and then we yelled at each other over the shitty things we both did, and then I said some stuff and showed him how much of a mess I was, and had some grand romantic notion in which he would say something impassioned and reveal that he was a mess too and we'd work it out together and have some tender embrace or some such complete nonsense but instead I crossed some boundaries _so hard_ that he got furious and left and now he'll probably never want to speak to me again and cross the Canadian border and it's a good thing I didn't spend the last two years doing something absolutely idiotic like getting emotionally attached to him otherwise that would make this whole affair _really fucking difficult_ and and and..”

He couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? Oh right, because he was sobbing. Fantastic. He hadn't noticed that Aunt May had sat next to him and put her arm around his shoulders, but now he was quite thankful for the shoulder to cry on. She kissed him on the forehead and softly told him, “Sweetie, you're not an idiot for getting attached,” which somehow made the tears come _faster._ Because he couldn't exactly speak between the rough gasps of breath and the tightness of his throat, he kind of did this snort in between shudders that he hoped conveyed “Well, clearly I am, because you can see with your own two eyes the result of said attachment. Also, what the hell, _I fell in love with_ _him,_ _Aunt May_ and that's gotta be in my top five worst decisions.”

She rubbed his shoulder and continued speaking, apparently understanding his message when she said, “Do you think I'm an idiot? Because I got attached to Wade myself. I already bought the yarn for his Christmas sweater, and I was really rooting for you two. Now, of course, I'll kill him if I see him for hurting my boy, but that's a given.”

He gave a weak puff of a laugh at that, but his breathing was starting to get back down to normal, and he was able to sit up straight again. Voice not much above a croak, he told her, “He's technically unkillable, Aunt May.”

Aunt May made a little 'Hmm' noise in the back of her throat, before casually remarking, “Well, Hell hath no fury like a maternal figure scorned.”

He half-smiled at that before sighing, saying, “Yeah. But I don't really want to see him dead.”

“I'm aware, dear. You want to see him back here.”

His voice went back down to a whisper, when he said, “We were so _close,_ Aunt May. And then I went used my patented Parker method of messing everything up right when things were looking up.”

She was rubbing circles on his back, and asked him simply, “Wasn't he the one that ran? You can hardly blame only yourself Peter. Which makes me wonder, are you more mad at yourself or at him?”

He shrugged. “Both, I think. Mad at myself for making a critical error, mad at him for making me believe that he wouldn't run, that we needed each other, all that jazz that evidence shows wasn't the truth.”

She stopped rubbing circles on his back so she could hold his hand, an earnestly in the gesture that made him believe what she said next. “You're going to get through this, you know. I've seen you survive heartbreak before.”

“I just, it wasn't supposed to _be_ heartbreak.”

“I understand that completely. Nothing is supposed to be heartbreak, honey. But that anger, that self-loathing, that depressive slump and accompanying emptiness, it'll all fade. You're a trooper, kid. I can personally guarantee you're going to be okay.”

“I know. Thank you.”

And the thing was, he actually did. She was right, he had already come out on the other end of heartbreak. He especially knew it when he didn't feel the hollowness come back after she left. He knew it when he only stayed out until about 1 am that morning, and his knuckles didn't look so raw after his patrol. He knew it when he pulled himself out of bed the next morning at 6:30 and when he made himself actual food and when he headed to work that day. He knew it when his thoughts were distinct rather than a cascade of emotions.

He wasn't okay yet. But goddammit, he was going to be.

 


End file.
